


The Little We Want

by skycatcher



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Missing Scene, Post-Episode: s04e15 Deception
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:07:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24484024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skycatcher/pseuds/skycatcher
Summary: “Alive is good,” said Cody, the words choked, and anything else he had wanted to say could not be forced past the raw emotion stuck in the back of his throat and pooled in his lungs.Cody decompresses in the wake of Obi-Wan’s return.
Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 17
Kudos: 314





	The Little We Want

He couldn’t put it off any longer.

“I brought your armour, sir,” said Cody. The regulation-issue crate was designed to be easy to stack and carry, and it rested in Cody’s arms with an impersonal weight, grounding him. He had a mission, even if it had not come from his General. 

He could do missions. And Medical were not easy to refuse, not when they pitted his well-intentioned reticence against Obi-Wan’s wellbeing. 

“Come in, Cody,” said a voice he had not expected to hear again. Obi-Wan turned towards him, seated at the desk, looking tired, more harried than he might have — before. 

“General,” said Cody quietly. “How are you feeling?”

“Alive,” said Obi-Wan dryly. “But I wouldn’t go so far as to say, ah, normal.”

“Alive is good,” said Cody, the words choked, and anything else he had wanted to say could not be forced past the raw emotion stuck in the back of his throat and pooled in his lungs.

“My dear Cody,” said Obi-Wan. “I’m so sorry.”

Cody gasped in air and willed his breath to steady. “No,” he said. “It’s not yours to be — sorry about.”

If any clone had received such an order, they would have executed it without hesitation. Clones did terrible things to themselves and others at the behest of the higher powers. 

And, as they had all been reminded, so did the Jedi. 

A hand settled on his spine, at the breadth of his shoulders; Obi-Wan had stood. The crate pried itself from his frozen fingers. Cody let himself be pressed into a chair, clutching Obi-Wan’s other hand between both of his own. It was a strange sensation, exacerbating Cody’s discomfort. Obi-Wan never removed his gauntlets.

Obi-Wan let him hold on to his hand like it was a lifeline, and Cody only realised he had it in a crushing grip as he struggled to relax his muscles, air forcing itself in and out of his chest.

With effort, his breathing came back under control, and he was reminded he had come here not to hyperventilate in Obi-Wan’s second-favourite desk chair, but to assess their General for field injury. Cody shut his eyes. He could feel Obi-Wan’s presence, patient.

“Let me try again,” he said, straightening his back and adjusting his collar. He had perfected that; a picture of professionalism that had run the battalion from the bridge and ground for three weeks, sent out to reinforce the ragged frontlines without their Jedi. It was also, undeniably, cracking; hairline fractures compounded by heavy losses and late-night reports written alone. There were some things miracles could not fix. “General. How are you feeling?”

Obi-Wan side-eyed him, settling into the other chair. He waved his hand. A familiar drawer from the room’s far corner slid open, and a bottle of clear liquid floated to his hand; he filled two shot glasses in the time it took Cody to deliberate on the merits of this course of action. He followed Obi-Wan’s bare fingers as they brought a glass to his lips, and Obi-Wan met his gaze.

“Awful,” drawled Obi-Wan, in answer, and tossed back the shot. “Anakin is still upset, Ahsoka is still upset, Satine is still upset, the Council is — smug.” Cody rather thought a few more shots would be required before the Council lost their political correctness protection. “And I don’t have a beard. Commander, forgive me if I expected you to be more displeased with the turn of events.”

“You look dashing without a beard,” said Cody, with a wan smile, just to see Obi-Wan glare, and guilely poured him another shot. Obi-Wan glanced pointedly at Cody’s untouched glass, and Cody raised it to his.

The liquor was unknown to him, and innocently smooth. This was dangerous.

“Come now,” said Obi-Wan softly, ignoring his raised eyebrow.

“We’re all soldiers in this war,” said Cody.

“Obligation does not preclude opinion,” countered Obi-Wan.

Cody sat there, fighting a losing battle, and Obi-Wan poured him another. He stared at it, but it seemed this was not something Obi-Wan was going to let go. As were most conflicts, on or off the battlefield — Obi-Wan might have a reputation as a diplomat, but the galaxy had no idea just how little the man was willing to concede.

He took the shot.

“It was terrible,” he said at last. It seemed impractical to deny the breakdown he had just had, standing on the cusp of an unreal impossibility no one else had the luxury of. He concentrated on the warmth of the alcohol in his blood and Obi-Wan’s fingers when they had been rough, alive under his own.

“It was —” The rest of his life, would have panned out like that, a fond memory and gaping absence where Obi-Wan Kenobi had once been. He tried a different tack. “General Skywalker was —” What, exactly? A danger to himself. A wild and untamed force of nature. A lonely, grieving young man. No, Skywalker had been isolated by his unrivalled penchant for war-making, untempered by his distraught Padawan and fuelled by his anger. Even Cody’s faith in Obi-Wan’s abilities was tested at the cold thought of Skywalker unknowingly killing his own Master. It could have happened.

“Oh,” said Obi-Wan, far from vapid.

“You’re shaking,” said Cody.

“A physiological side effect of the transformation process,” said Obi-Wan, settling his glass down with care, as if he did not want more evidence of his unsteady hands to fall under Cody’s scrutiny.

Too late — “You shouldn’t be drinking,” said Cody with reproach.

Obi-Wan balanced his elbows on the table and leaned forward to rest his chin on his hands, the angle of his cheeks unsoftened by his beard. “I shouldn’t have done a lot of things,” he said, and Cody knew that was the closest he was ever going to get to an admission of regret.

Jedi, after all, did not regret; they made a utilitarian choice that would save the most, and bore the burden of the rest. 

Cody also knew, better than most, that such responsibility could crush any sliver of carefreeness, the most precious of gifts in this time of war, and it could set people apart and raise them on a pedestal of duty to their brothers. Such was a Commander’s life, a trick of fate in a sea of a million identical faces. 

A tremor in Obi-Wan’s arms made him frown; Cody lunged forward a second later as Obi-Wan toppled from his chair.

“Had too much to drink, sir?” said Cody, bland, even as Obi-Wan’s limbs continued to spasm involuntarily.

“It seems I overestimated my capacity,” said Obi-Wan, breathless, muffled against Cody’s chest. “It’ll pass.”

Cody did not deign that with a reply, and set about gathering Obi-Wan’s arms and legs. It was worrisome the man made no protest; Cody felt concern seep slowly through his veins. He got to his feet, Obi-Wan cradled in the crooks of his elbows, and thought all at once that this was how Skywalker must have felt, that night on the rooftops of Coruscant, an unbearable weight in his arms.

He stopped and blinked at the spike of panic, too afraid to look down and confirm his delusions.

“Steady, Commander.” Obi-Wan’s voice was gentle. Cody cleared his throat. He was so tired. He stepped over to the bunk and knelt, carefully sliding Obi-Wan from his arms. Obi-Wan rolled towards him and grabbed his hand, wincing as a full-body tremor struck him.

“I’m alive,” said Obi-Wan, staring up at him, and drew Cody’s palm to his chest, where lived an unfaltering rhythm beneath Cody’s fingers.

Cody drew in a shuddering breath, and said, “You are. You are —”

He wept then, knelt by the low bed, shoulders shaking silently, his head bent over Obi-Wan’s beating heart.

“Hush,” said Obi-Wan, as he brushed Cody’s hair away from his forehead.

“You’re going to Medical tomorrow,” rasped Cody, when he could finally speak.

“All right,” said Obi-Wan, tugging him gently onto the mattress. “Tomorrow.” And he let Cody curl one arm around his back, unwilling to let go of the proof that his worst fears had been nothing more than a passing nightmare.


End file.
